Aetis Aliasmodi
by Ultima Dea
Summary: AU/AR. The Final Battle came earlier than anyone had expected. Once again, they’ve been forced to a last resort: time travel. Unfortunately, the spell makes for pretty shoddy aim, and nothing is quite going to plan…
1. Prologue: From the Ashes

Title: Aetas Aliasmodi

**Title: **Aetas Aliasmodi  
**Author:** Ultima Dea  
**Rating:** M, not necessarily right off the bat.  
**Summary:** AU/AR. The Final Battle came earlier than anyone had expected. Once again, they've been forced to a last resort: time travel. Unfortunately, the spell makes for pretty shoddy aim, and nothing is quite going to plan…  
**Pairings:** The main one is LM/HG. Secondary pairings are still quite up in the air. For that matter, so's the first one. Nothing is cemented, people!  
**Author's Note:** Welcome to the fic! :) Please enjoy. Also, Snape has _not_ killed Dumbledore yet! Harry and Hermione are in the middle of their sixth year at the beginning of this story.

**Aetas Aliasmodi  
**_Prologue: From the Ashes_

"Life is short, but it is wide."  
-Rebecca Wells, in _The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood_

**December 24****th****, 1996: 9:43 p.m.**

Hermione tore through her room, stuffing things into her knapsack. After casting a nervous, almost guilty look at her books, the teenaged girl shrunk them all and put them into her knapsack, as well. She wasn't going to let a little Death Eater invasion/massacre separate her from her books, and nobody who knew her would begrudge her that.

Pausing for a moment as she heard her name being called, she began to leave the room, but stopped and looked back at her trunk. "Coming!" she called down the stairs, and after a moment's more of struggling with herself, she finally made a small, exasperated noise and rounded on her trunk before digging through it frantically. Her knapsack held a fresh change of underwear, her books, a few magical artifacts she thought she might make use of, and, quite secretly, a few items that held too much personal value to leave behind, no matter how grim their circumstances.

She didn't bother grabbing more clothes, although her own were splattered with blood. Where she was going, if she made it there, her clothes would not fit in, and she'd have to find new ones, anyway.

Finally, Hermione sighed with relief as she pulled out a small book, the words "Memories" scrawled across it in lazy cursive. Feeling tears sting her eyes, she shook her head, firmly. They could take her friends from her, but she would cling to these pictures with her dying breath, if necessary.

"Hermione!" Harry Potter bellowed from the bottom of the stairs to the girl's dorm.

Pursing her lips in annoyance, Hermione stuffed the photo album in her knapsack and ran from her room, taking the steps down two at a time. "I'm here, Harry," she said, breathlessly, and would have snapped something if he hadn't taken her elbow as soon as she appeared and started dragging her behind him.

His clothes were no better than hers were; covered with blood and grime.

She knew that if Ron had been there, he'd have pulled at her other elbow, rolling his eyes and rhetorically asking why girls took so bloody long to pack things. A pained frown tugged at her lips as Harry looked around a corner before releasing her arm, gesturing at her to be silent and follow. Harry didn't have Ron's gift of making light of every situation. It was a talent that Hermione had always outwardly shown exasperation for, even while she was relieved – with Ron around, keeping solemnity at bay, their problems never seemed to be too big to tackle.

But he wasn't here. And she couldn't risk crying and blurring her vision. Holding her wand at ready, she ran behind Harry, glad that he was keeping a steady pace she could keep up with.

Suddenly, there was movement from the corner of the corridor they'd just turned around. Whirling, Hermione slid to a stop, training her wand on the movement and shouting, "_Stupe—_" before faltering and falling silent.

"Hermione?" Harry asked nervously, turning and coming back towards her.

"Harry…" Hermione said, her tone sounding oddly like a warning, but without any note of panic. Her brown eyes turned and connected with his green ones before returning to the lone figure at the end of her wand.

Harry's expression turned grim when he realized who it was.

A first-year, whose name Hermione didn't know and who sported the green tie of Slytherin, was cowering in the corner, watching the tip of Hermione's wand fearfully. Cussing, Harry turned and looked down the corridor before turning back to the small boy, running his fingers through his already-messy hair.

The castle should have been empty.

The Death Eaters had chosen to attack during Christmas. Ron and Ginny had stayed in the castle for the holidays rather than Harry and Hermione joining their family at the Burrow because their parents had gone to visit Charlie. Harry, of course, had nowhere to go, and Hermione had owled her parents and asked if she could stay with her friends.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger had agreed. They would certainly regret it for the rest of their lives, now.

While the first wave of dark creatures had attacked the castle, the teachers had rounded up the only students in the castle. Thankfully, there had been few, maybe about thirty five in total. Twenty of them had been sixth and seventh years, and had joined most of the teachers on the battlefield as the wards surrounding Hogwarts had weakened.

Professor McGonagall and Headmaster Dumbledore had ushered the younger students up to his office, where they were Flooed to relative safety. Then, over the battlefield, all the owls were released simultaneously – probably to warn the students that had gone home for the holidays that the school would be closed until further notice or something similar.

"_On bloody Christmas Eve!" Ron had exclaimed, rolling his eyes and pretending that his face wasn't as white as a sheet. "They certainly have a solid grip on what constitutes holiday cheer."_

_Ginny had smacked him on the back of his head with her wand. "Fine time to be making jokes, Ron. It's not going to be so funny if somebody dies, now will it?"_

_Rubbing at his head and frowning at his sister, Ron had simply grumbled, "Nobody's going to die. We're the good side." Ginny had rolled her eyes, although Hermione could tell from the fact that she was even bothering to banter with her brother that she held Ron's opinion. _

_Nobody was going to die. Dying happened to other people._

"Come on," Hermione finally ordered, when it was clear that Harry was still wrestling with the sudden arrival of the Slytherin first-year. Striding towards the boy, she grabbed him by the elbow and hauled him into a standing position. At his stricken look, Hermione tried to soften her grip somewhat. "What's your name?"

She heard Harry exhale sharply in annoyance. "Now isn't the time, Hermione. We have to go before they get in."

At that, the boy was suddenly clutching Hermione's hand. "Connor." Tears were welling up in his eyes. "Connor O'Mallory." There was a faint Irish lilt to his voice, and Hermione frowned at Harry when she didn't recognize the name. That was good, though – it left it up in the air, whether he was the son of a Death Eater or not.

"Where are your parents?" Hermione asked, then gave Harry a glare when he began to fidget. However, she knew herself that time was of the essence, and began to walk. Connor walked with her willingly, sniffing and wiping his nose on the sleeve of his robe.

"I don't know," he all but wailed. "P-professor Dumbledore said I couldn't go home and then everyone else in Slytherin was really mean to me and told me I wouldn't get any presents for Christmas."

Harry, who had been looking hard at the boy until that point, softened somewhat, mouthing "Death Eater murders" at Hermione, who understood. Lately, there had been a rash of deaths among the parents of their Slytherin classmates, and Harry had long since speculated that they were old Death Eaters who Voldemort had decided didn't have their uses anymore. Their children did a fine job of stepping in, apparently.

Hermione chose not to address this with the boy, since Dumbledore had apparently decided not to tell Connor about his parents' untimely demise. "Come on. We're getting to safety. How come you didn't floo out with the others?"

"When?" the boy asked, obviously confused as to what she was talking about. Hermione hadn't recalled seeing him at Christmas Eve dinner, which was when the attack had started and when the students had started getting evacuated.

"At dinner," Harry supplied, and then gave a relieved "Finally" as the door to the Room of Requirement suddenly appeared around the corner.

Connor's face fell. "Ellen said that you only got to eat Christmas Eve dinner if you were going to get presents. She said I couldn't come."

Oh, really! Slytherins were honestly appallingly horrible to each other, Hermione thought as she ushered the first-year into the Room of Requirement. As the petty thought crossed her mind, she was forced to remind herself, harshly, that there were worse things than the personality traits of Slytherin. There had been an obscene amount of death that day, and no matter how she tried to distract herself, Hermione knew that her battle instincts were simply forcing her to wait until she had the leisure to grieve. She wasn't sure when said leisure would arrive, if ever; the plan Harry had come up with wasn't even assured of working.

After evacuating the students, Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore had joined the students and teachers on the battlefield with promises that Aurors would arrive soon. The Aurors hadn't shown up by the time everyone had fallen.

Voldemort, the coward, hadn't even bothered to make an appearance. Harry's scar told him that he was in the vicinity, but he was obviously waiting for one of the Death Eaters to finish the boy, since Harry had proved so tenacious when it came to battling Voldemort one on one. Smart, but despicable, and with the dark creatures barreling through them, none of them had really stood a chance. There had only been, possibly, forty on the side of Good at that battle, with hundreds upon hundred backing up the Bad side.

_Hermione and Harry were side by side, casting hex after hex at the Death Eaters. She heard Harry almost say the Killing Curse, and had found herself, absurdly, holding her breath and wishing that he wouldn't use an Unforgivable. Thankfully, he'd stuttered on the fourth syllable, and had changed tactics suddenly and cast a Stupefy._

_Ron should have been flanking her other side, but he'd seen Ginny in trouble and had bounded towards the giant with an indignant holler.. The sounds of battle had arisen around her, and his voice had faded in the noise._

_She knew that with every moment that passed without him by her side, it was becoming steadily more certain that he'd been killed. But she hadn't had time to look for him._

_She could only focus on the seemingly endless stream of targets.._

_Finally, in the haze of all the cursing, hexing, and spellcasting, a huge blast had sent the dark creatures flying backwards, and Harry had turned to her with a strangely panicked look to his bright green eyes. "Dumbledore's down. We're the only ones fighting."_

_The only ones fighting._

_She had looked into her best friend's bright green eyes and saw her heartbreak, the splintering, rupturing __**pain**__, mirrored there. Her chest seized, and a bruised feeling rose in the back of her throat as she struggled not to cry._

_The opposing side was beginning to rally. "Inside," Harry ordered, turning her around and pushing her into a run. "Go! Don't look down," he bellowed in afterthought, but it was too late, and once she'd looked at the ground, she couldn't look away._

_Lupin had landed on his stomach, and looked strangely as though he were sleeping. McGonagall's limbs had been twisted in a sickening manner, and her eyes were staring up at the sky, bulging from her sockets. Ginny seemed to have stumbled backwards over her brother, and her glassy gaze was focused on the grass near her shoulder._

_Hermione thanked and cursed whatever God there was that Ron's face had been turned away from her as she passed his fallen body._

"Hermione?" Harry asked, waving a hand in front of her face. Hermione snapped back into focus, blinking and sending him a questioning look. Harry looked oddly… old. Sadness seemed to line his mouth, and there was a weariness to his gaze and posture that hadn't been there a mere five hours prior. Dimly aware of a pain in her arm, she looked down at Connor, who was digging his fingers into her wrist with a single-minded sort of panic as explosions and great booming noises began sounding from outside the castle. The Death Eaters were getting in.

"Yes, Harry?"

"Here's the book," he said, his voice soft as he handed the tome to her. She took it with her free hand and looked at the boy clinging to her.

Twisting her wrist from his grasp, Hermione settled her hand on his head reassuringly when he turned his blue gaze up at her. "I need to look through this book. Why don't you tell Harry about yourself?"

Connor gave Harry a mistrusting look through his black fringe, but nodded mutely and allowed Harry to lead him a few feet away. Hermione glanced at the cover of the book, noting how worn and old it appeared, and traced her finger over the title.

Tyme Travelle: A Compendiumme of Usses, Abusses and Niftie Tricks.

She didn't have it in herself to appreciate the scope of how ridiculous the title was. Olde English left a lot to be desired. Feeling a dead weight in her chest where she knew mirth would be bubbling had she the inclination, Hermione cracked the hard cover open, carefully handling the pages so they didn't turn to dust in her fingers. It was a beautifully kept book, although nearly ancient.

"My favorite color is orange," she heard Connor telling Harry happily, although there was a twinge of nervousness every time a loud noise echoed through the castle. Tearing her attention away from the two boys, she focused on the book. Connor seemed to fade from her senses as he chattered. "My birthday is in February…"

She had known going in that many of the spells would be useless. Time travel was a tricky, complex and very illegal art, and most of the spells involved ingredients that the Room of Requirement was not readily equipped to give. After all, if one could simply procure priceless ingredients from the place, nobody would bother searching the jungles for any of it.

Hermione began every spell by skimming the instructions, turning the page immediately if she saw an ingredient she knew she would not be able to get.

An hour later, she still hadn't found a workable spell, and she was a little more than halfway through the tome. She glanced up at Harry, who had gone glassy-eyed in the face of Connor's incessant prattle, although the younger boy didn't seem to notice Harry's mental absence at all.

A mere fifteen minutes later, an explosion shook the very foundation of the castle. Above them, the mini-chandelier tinkled as the movement rocked the Room of Requirement, and Hermione cast a look up towards the ceiling as dust sprinkled down on top of them. Shouts of victory echoed through the corridors of the castle outside of their room. Feeling Harry's gaze on her, Hermione raised her brown eyes and looked at him squarely. Connor had fallen silent, his blue eyes wide with horror.

"It's only a matter of time before they find us," Harry reminded her in a quiet tone that belied the panic that had stolen into his body, forcing him to clench and unclench his fists.

She merely nodded. "I know. I'm looking."

He almost told her to hurry, but then shut his mouth. Hermione didn't need any rushing. She knew the stakes.

Another hour later, Hermione finished the book. She had two places marked with her fingers, and when she flipped back to them, Harry stood up, glad to get away from Connor's attempts to play I Spy with him. He felt bad for not indulging the child, but he was too wrapped up in the imminence of his own death and the permanence of his friends' death to really care about Connor's psychological health.

"What have you got?" he asked softly, crouching down behind her. Hermione's lips were tight, held thin, when she looked over her shoulder at him. After a tense moment, she sighed, rubbing at her temples with her free hand.

Shifting the book over so he could see it, she showed him the first and then the second option. "Nothing good, I'm afraid. We might as well throw out the idea of using specifics, now; those spells are too complex to be an option, considering that we're running low on time and don't have the ability to gather most of the ingredients.

"The first option will send us back in time, but there's no guarantee that we'll land in a time when Riddle is still a child. Although we can do the best we've got, the spell is well known for being unwieldy and unreliable, and we could end up precisely where we like or about three hundred years prior.

"The second option is a spell that won't send us back more than sixty years, which is good, because sixty-five years would have been our target… but like the first, there's no way to guarantee that we'll end up sixty years back. It'll at least send us twenty years back. It says that the spell's destination becomes more concrete if the casters can _imagine_ the timezone. Which we can try to do, but neither of us have lived in the forties, and we'd have to explain it as best we could to Connor."

She sighed once more, through her nose, which Harry knew meant that she was done. Shoving his glasses up and rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration, he squeezed his eyes shut. "That's absolutely bloody terrible options," he commented, almost idly.

"I know."

"Well, at this point we've got nothing to lose. Connor!" Harry said, raising his voice and beckoning the boy over – the first-year had been hovering where Harry had left him, unsure as to whether he was going to be allowed to participate in the conversation or not. "Come here… I've got a plan, but we're going to need your help."

Ignoring the way the boy's eyes brightened up at being needed, Hermione let the book fall open at the second option, knowing that that's what Harry had chosen.

**xo**  
**xoxo**  
**xoxoxo  
xoxo  
xo**

"Do you remember the words?" Harry asked Connor gently as Hermione drew a rough double-pentagram with a piece of chalk the Room had happily supplied. It had taken two hours of drilling it into the boy's head along with the wand movements and the visualizing of the forties lifestyle, and neither Harry nor Hermione had much faith that the spell would work. But as Harry had pointed out, they had nothing to lose. It was either that or wait to die.

Connor nodded fervently, his eyes gleaming happily with the notion that two sixth-years were relying on _his_ help. "_Aetis Aliasmodi_," he supplied, in case Harry didn't believe him.

Harry nodded, and Connor beamed.

Closing the circle she'd drawn around the double-pentagram, Hermione rocked back onto her heels. "It would be more stable with a fourth person," she fretted, running the chalk between her fingers worriedly.

"It will be fine. Connor will take East point, and you and I will take North and South… and then you'll move to West point and finish it," Harry said, somewhat unnecessarily, since Hermione no doubt had every move down pat. There was a tense moment of silence before Harry put a hand to Connor's shoulder, moving him into position. "No time like the present."

The three students took up their positions, all bravely ignoring the nervous flutterings of their bellies as they stepped within the double-pentagram. They closed their eyes, trying to think of nothing but what they imagined the forties to look like. Hermione willed the spell to send them to the correct time. Harry prayed that the spell wouldn't mess up. Connor merely hoped that the other two would notice that he did a good job of doing the words right.

"_Aetis Aliasmodi_," Hermione finally intoned, keeping her eyes closed and pointing her wand Northwards. After a pause in which she wondered if Connor had passed out from anxiety, she finally heard a tremulous, young Irish voice repeat the words, followed by Harry's much lower, more masculine tone.

Although her legs felt heavy with the electrical sparkings of magic as the three incantations settled neatly on top of each other, she forced herself to move to the West point, keeping her wand outstretched, and said the fourth and final incantation.

There was a pregnant pause.

Hermione felt the magic sink downwards, as if fading away, and sighed as Harry whispered, "Did it work? I don't think—"

At that precise moment, a feeling of intense vertigo overcame her, so intense that she felt as if all of her organs had shifted upside down and twisted into each other. She thought she might have cried out, but didn't hear herself or the others. Opening her eyes, she saw the room shift rhythmically, as if pulsating, but the movement was so violent that it instantly made her feel sick.

Then little black dots swarmed her vision from the corners of her eyes, turning the world fuzzy until everything went dark.

**xo  
****xoxo**  
**xoxoxo  
xoxo  
xo**

She awoke to the sound of someone retching, and something hot, wet, and chunky landing on her arm and stomach. The smell of fresh vomit followed soon after, and Hermione bit her own tongue, hoping the pain would distract her from emptying the contents of her stomach, herself.

Her head hurt so badly that she didn't think she could stand opening her eyes. A low moan sounded a few feet away from her, one that echoed her misery and amplified it as the noise entered her ears before promptly crashing around her brain and making her wish she'd never been born. A whimper sounded from somewhere near her elbow, and Hermione realized that Connor, the first-year, was the one that had hurled all over her. Nice. Should have left the bugger to rot in the castle.

There was no telling how long the three of them laid there, eyes shut, moving only slightly. Eventually, Hermione's pounding headache lessened. It seemed that Harry's had followed suit, because he spoke.

"I think I'm going to throw up."

"Do it on me and I will stomp on your throat," Hermione whispered, her tone flat and heavy with promise.

"Looks like the first-year beat him to it, anyway," came a fully new, not-one-of-the-new-trio voice. It had a drawling quality to it, as though the boy speaking always had eight to twelve better things to do than engage in conversation with anyone, anywhere.

Alarmed, Hermione snapped her eyes open, but hurriedly shut them again. The light, wherever she was, was meager, but it was enough to sting. She had rather thought that the spell would have kept them in the Room of Requirement, but it seemed as though the Room had somewhere else to be, and the spell had deposited them elsewhere. Fan-bloody-tastic.

She heard Harry try and sit up. "Who are you?"

"None of your business," was the prompt, sharp reply. "Knowing who _you_ are is definitely _my_ business, though, as I don't know any of you and have reason to believe that you are trespassing on school grounds."

She hated that voice already. Cutting Harry off before he said something stupid, like, _My name's Harry Potter!_ Hermione spoke, managing to open her eyes and look at her bleary surroundings. "Dumbledore."

The figure was unfocused before her. "What?" came the exasperated response.

"_Dumbledore_. I assume you _know_ him, since he _works_ here?" she snapped, hauling herself up into a sitting position and digging her thumb into a spot at the corner of her eye where the headache was markedly persistent. The vomit on her shirt had cooled, apparently, and now she could feel it anew as she moved. _Disgusting_.

Hermione felt, rather than saw, the figure draw itself in, as if about to explode or at least do something very nasty to them. Suddenly, she was aware of how unwise it was to be rude to someone who clearly had you at a disadvantage.

Thankfully, the boy who'd found them had no time to do anything.

"Here I am," came a brand new voice, somewhat old and still containing that twinkling sort of vibrancy that told Hermione that there was a perpetual smile on his face. "Ah, Mr. Malfoy. Diligent in your prefect duties as usual! I'll take everything from here."

There was no response from the boy, but Hermione assumed he nodded.

Beside her, Harry startled. "Malfoy? _Lucius_ Malfoy?" he asked, and Hermione could have smacked him for saying something so stupid. Why not just broadcast to everyone that they had used an illegal time traveling spell?

There was a short silence from the Malfoy. Then, "It seems you have me at a disadvantage, Mr….?"

Harry's only response was a groan. "Hermione. We _missed_."

And, as if to add further commentary to their failings, Connor retched and threw up all over Hermione's lap.

**xo  
xoxo**  
**xoxoxo  
xoxo  
xo**

**End note:** Woo! What a blasty-blast this'll turn out to be. Harry really should learn to be more discrete.


	2. Welcome Back to Hogwarts!

**Author's Note:** Welcome back! :D Glad to see you all again. Let's see what sort of trouble that motley crew has gotten itself into, now.

**Kittykatekat:** Sorry if the prologue was confusing! What happened was that they were trying to get to Tom Riddle's era, but since the spell doesn't allow for them to choose exactly where they go, they accidentally ended up when Lucius Malfoy was a seventh-year at Hogwarts. I hope that clears it up for you :)

Updated: 3 – 18 – 08

**Aetis Aliasmodi  
**_Chapter One: Welcome Back to Hogwarts!_

"Give love and unconditional acceptance to those you encounter, and notice what happens."  
- Wayne Dyer

**October 3****rd****, 1970: 6:54 a.m.**

She awoke with the awareness that she was clean. There was no vomit covering her person. Her uniform wasn't stiff with ogre's blood and mud from the outer yards of Hogwarts. It seemed as though she was nestled in clean, crisp sheets, warm against her body, but when she moved, she could feel that without her heat, they would be cool to the touch. Sighing happily, Hermione smiled faintly. Cleanliness _was_ next to Godliness.

"I see you're awake, Ms. Greystead."

The voice startled her, coming from somewhere at her right elbow. Snapping her eyes open, Hermione waited for them to adjust to the brightness of the Infirmary before smiling tightly at the Headmaster. He looked much the same now as he did twenty-five years in the future, except perhaps that his hair had a little more grey and a little less white.

The subtle joking tone he'd taken when he said her "name" triggered her memory of the night before.

"Scourgify_," Hermione commanded, pointing at the double helpings of puke Connor had so thoughtfully given her for Christmas. Immediately, the vomit dissipated into nothing. Connor still had his eyes squeezed shut, and she noted with worry that he hadn't so much as made a peep since they'd gotten thrown back in time. Harry recovered much more quickly than she did, and was on his feet and embracing the Headmaster._

"_Professor!" Harry said into Dumbledore's shoulder. Hermione's eyes slid over to the tall, imperious-looking blonde that was Lucius Malfoy, who was watching the proceedings with interested, narrowed eyes._

_Forcing a smile on her face, she'd simply said, "Harry," in a warning tone that let him know that he was pushing his luck. Jolting, Harry drew back from the bemused Headmaster, his green gaze settling on Malfoy before he took a full step back, fidgeting uncomfortably. Connor moaned low in his throat at her feet, and Hermione dropped back to her knees, resting the backs of her knuckles against the boy's forehead. No warmth. Obviously he was still feeling the effects of the trip._

"_Roll on your stomach," she'd commanded, pushing him to help him along when he tried to comply. Rubbing his back in small circles, she made soothing noises as Harry began to talk to Dumbledore._

_Clearing his throat and casting a pointed look at Malfoy, Harry raised his eyebrows at his old, no-longer deceased mentor in question. "Can we talk privately?" _

_And, of course, Professor Dumbledore had complied._

_After moving Connor into the Infirmary, where he promptly fell asleep, Professor Dumbledore took them up to his office, dismissing Malfoy at the gargoyle. The prefect looked supremely peeved at being left in the dark as to the three students' sudden, bloodied arrival, but he'd merely tightened his jaw, gave a nod, and left. Hermione resisted the urge to send a hex at his back, and knew that her best friend was battling the same inclination._

_Dumbledore hadn't allowed them to fully state their reasons for being in the year 1970, although once he learned how close they were to being born themselves, he allowed them to take on new names. Of course, Harry had ruined Hermione's chance at forming a new first name with his inability to keep his trap shut. It wasn't so bad for Harry to go by Harry – it was common enough. But the magical world wasn't exactly bursting at the seams with Hermiones._

_Hermione had taken the last name Greystead, a pureblood name that Dumbledore had assured her had died out. She had felt uncomfortable at taking on a pureblood name, but after she'd made it clear that she was not going to let Connor enter a separate house and might join him in Slytherin, Dumbledore had said it was a safety precaution he would feel a lot better about her taking. Harry had become Harry Pennewick, another dead-and-buried pureblood name. Apparently, Dumbledore didn't expect the other pureblood families to find out that the names had died off, since the last known documentation of both had been their travel papers out of the country some fifty years ago. _

_Connor got to keep his last name, since it was common in both the magical and the Muggle world._

Lucky little kid. Hermione was never going to get used to "Greystead."

"Good morning, Professor," she said, politely, although she wanted to fawn all over him like Harry had done just the night before. Dumbledore wasn't stupid; he could probably guess from Harry's energetic happiness towards him that something bad had happened to him in the future. There was no need to complicate matters and reaffirm what the Headmaster probably suspected. She looked around and saw that Connor was at the window, staring in awe at Hogwarts. Doubtless his last vision of the place had been leagues from the way it was, now.

Harry was still snoozing.

Dumbledore's eyes crinkled as he smiled, patting her hand. "Are you ready? You're going to get re-sorted this morning, at breakfast, so we can free up the sick beds again. Madame Bestra doesn't like slovenly layabouts in her beds, you see," he added, winking and nodding his head towards her office door.

Hermione felt herself smiling in spite of… well, everything. Dumbledore could have that sort of affect on a person. Besides, they were in the year 1970. Nobody that Hermione had personally known was dead, yet. Strangely, the thought wasn't at all comforting; she felt Ron's absence keenly. "I'm ready," she said, decisively. Hopefully Harry would be, too. He'd balked at the idea of letting himself be sorted into Slytherin after so narrowly avoiding it the first time, but when Hermione had refused to leave Connor alone in there, he'd relented.

She knew what Slytherins were like, and she could only imagine the sorts of abuse Connor would be victim to without protection. No doubt Malfoy would be eager to get his grimy hands on the boy to strangle all the information out that he could.

"Breakfast is in thirty minutes," the old wizard simply responded, then stood to go. "I brought uniforms for the three of you. Yours were very much outdated."

She snorted. "Thank you, Professor."

**October 3****rd****, 1970: 7:39 a.m.**

Hermione adjusted Connor's collar, ignoring his attempts to squirm away. She'd told him to ask the hat to put him in Gryffindor, and although he'd told her that he would try, he clearly didn't believe her assertion that the hat would put him wherever he wanted to go. Probably he still wanted to be in Slytherin – most students that went there did so to appease their parents, or something, right? Although his parents were dead (he didn't know that, yet), and nowhere around, he would probably still want to prove something to them.

"Give him a break, will you?" Harry finally intervened, looking faintly amused. "He'll get sorted whether or not you fuss over him."

Huffing, Hermione gladly stepped into the comforting role that opened up for her: the nag and mother-like figure. It didn't quite fit her, really, not with Ron gone… but it was comforting to discover that it was still there, waiting for her. If Harry was going to keep from thinking about the battle, then she would, too. "Well, _excuse_ me for trying to make sure he doesn't look like something that rolled out of a haystack. Speaking of which…" she mumbled, trailing off and staring with a fixed sense of determination at Harry's unruly mop. Licking the tips of her fingers, she moved them towards her best friend's head, determined to flatten his cowlick once and for all.

"Hey!" Harry yelped, swerving and narrowly avoiding her ministrations. "You're my best friend, but that doesn't mean you get to put your _spit_ on me, Hermione."

"Oh, really," she scoffed, folding her arms. "I thought boys grew out of the cootie phase at the age of twelve, or something."

"The daughter of _dentists_ should be fully aware of how dirty mouths can be," he shot back, looking smug when she failed to have a blistering retort at ready. Thankfully, she could pretend that she was distracted by Professor Dumbledore announcing Hogwarts' newest arrivals.

"We have three new students joining us," he said, from out of sight of the three students. Hermione realized that she hadn't seen this particular anteroom since her own Sorting as a first-year. It was really rather weird to go about getting Sorted again… especially with the plan to follow Connor into whatever House he landed himself in. "Our first is a first-year. He's joining us a little late in the school year, but I'm sure his classmates will be more than up to the task of bringing him up to speed." Nevermind that Connor was easily two months ahead of these students, simply by virtue of having made it to Christmas of his first year. Unless the curriculum had drastically changed over the decades. "O'Mallory, Connor!"

Before letting him go, Hermione leaned down to get to eye level with him. "Remember. Try to get into Gryffindor."

Connor nodded, but lowered his eyes a fraction instead of maintaining eye contact. Inwardly, Hermione sighed. He was going to get put into Slytherin, and she was going to drag both herself and Harry into the nest of vipers after him. The first-year entered the Great Hall.

Harry sighed loudly. "It's going to be Slytherin for us, isn't it."

"Yep."

"_SLYTHERIN_," the Sorting Hat bellowed. Hermione took one last look at her school clothes to make sure they weren't bunched up funny or something, and waited to get called out next.

Lucius smirked into his goblet of pumpkin juice as the O'Mallory brat got himself into Slytherin. Unbeknownst to the Slytherin Prefect, Hermione had read him perfectly: he was planning on getting Connor alone and plying him for all the secrets the newly-arrived trio offered. He was _not_ buying Dumbledore's weak suggestion of them being exchange students from America. They had English accents, for Merlin's sake.

Of course, he'd been an exemplary Slytherin the night before, keeping mostly quiet and observing the details of the scene before him. Although O'Mallory had had a green tie, the two others had clearly been sporting Gryffindor colors – which just made their weird friendship with the first year all the weirder. Still, he'd be able to get all the answers he required that night in the dormitories; with the two sixth-years up in Gryffindor tower, Connor wouldn't stand a chance.

"You seem happy," Avery noted, his eyes fixed on Lucius' face.

Smoothing his expression, the seventh-year shrugged. "The kid looks like a wimp. I think I'll have fun with him." That said, he waited until Connor had left the Sorting Hat behind before smiling and waving at the boy. The kid looked both horror-stricken and awed to have caught Lucius' attention, but, to the first-year's credit, approached the prefect carefully when Lucius beckoned him over. "Come sit with me," the blonde offered with a wide, friendly grin, making room for Connor beside him.

The horror melted from the boy's expression, leaving only awe. First-years didn't often mix with seventh-years, especially handsome, blonde prefects. Even as a student, Lucius exuded power to the rest of his House, and, to a lesser extent, to the other three Houses. Obviously Connor was unsure whether to be happy for his luck or suspicious of Lucius' attentions, but finally, the black-haired Irish boy sat across from Narcissa Black, who gave him a mega-watt and utterly perfect smile, causing the kid to look embarrassed and pleased all at once.

Lucius paid only half of his attention to the proceedings before the staff table. He caught the name – Hermione Greystead – but didn't bother to watch for her to be sorted. He knew where she was going.

Or rather, he _thought_ he did.

Even Lucius couldn't stop his eyes from widening in shock as the Sorting Hat proclaimed Hermione Greystead to be a "_SLYTHERIN_." He calmed his face down immediately, since his friends had no idea that he'd even encountered the battered, bloody trio the night before, but he was sure he wasn't able to completely school his expression as Ms. Greystead put the hat on the stool and strode surely to Connor, and hence, to Lucius.

Giving Lucius Malfoy a chilling look, Hermione grabbed Connor by the arm, leading him to the far end of the Slytherin table. Looking ashamed at being manhandled but making no protest, Connor gave Lucius and his little posse a sad wave.

The blonde Slytherin ground his teeth, causing the skin in his jaw to tense and flicker for a second, as Harry Pennewick became a Slytherin and joined Greystead and O'Mallory at the end of the Slytherin table. He knew that he had _not_ been hallucinating the flash of gold and red at Greystead and Pennewick's throats the night before; it had been the key instigator behind his ill-concealed disdain for them. And yet, somehow, they'd tricked the Sorting Hat and gotten themselves into Slytherin… perhaps that was what they'd talked to Dumbledore about the night before. It would be just like the codgy old wizard to order the hat to put students into a particular house, regardless of their weaknesses or strengths.

The other Slytherins around Lucius were bound to have noticed Hermione's hostile manner towards him, but Lucius remained calm, taking one last sip of his pumpkin juice before setting the goblet down gently. He could not let her attitude go unchecked, of course. He was well-used to reigning supreme in Slytherin House, and he wasn't going to let two Gryffindor upstarts change that.

**October 3****rd****, 1970: 9:13 p.m.**

She and Harry had done everything within their power to avoid entering the Slytherin common room while it was bound to be infested by Slytherins. Hermione had allowed herself to lose track of Connor during the school day, but was waiting with her best friend outside of the Slytherin first years' last class before it ended. She knew she couldn't avoid Lucius and the Li'l Death Eaters forever, but that didn't mean she was keen on barging in there while they were plotting dastardly deeds amongst each other. Harry, thankfully, shared her misgivings and was more than happy to allow himself to be led around the grounds and into the library to pass the time.

Connor had seemed a little put out that he wasn't able to spend more time with his friends, but being in the presence of two Older People seemed to lighten his mood almost immediately. It helped, of course, that he knew the other first-years would be jealous of his close friendship with two sixth-years.

Harry and Hermione, for their part, had allowed Connor to cast them in the role of his missing parents. It was sweet, in a weird way, to have Connor look at them that way, and Hermione felt her own maternal urgings come to the fore with the kid around. Harry, she could already tell, was going to end up being one of those goofy, playful dads, the kind that slipped his kid candy after dinner with a wink and an extracted promise not to tell their mother. Harry was quick to lose his patience with the first-year, but thankfully seemed to be able to hide it from Connor himself. He wasn't used to dealing with kids, and found Connor's endless stream of energy and questions to be rather exhausting. Fortunately, Harry wasn't, by nature, a mean-spirited person, and did the best he could to be nice even when he felt his control beginning to slip.

Hermione seemed to be an indulgent mother, herself, although she obviously held learning and school in high regard. She was constantly offering tidbits of information to Connor whenever he talked about something she knew something about, and although he seemed immediately bored with her long-winded explanations, she learned over the course of the few hours before dinner with him that he would respond enthusiastically to shorter, seemingly-mysterious bits of education, and would even respond in an enthusiastically questioning manner, which Hermione approved of.

They spent their time after dinner in the library, more because they lacked other things to do that late. Harry was teaching Connor how to play paper football while Hermione studied for their classes; it had turned out that the curriculum was slightly different, although she'd been disappointed to realize that much of the material they were covering had been taught to her in fifth year.

Connor yawned wide, and Harry smiled at the first-year's lack of Slytherin guile.

Or what he perceived to be as such. Hermione rather thought that there was a good reason Connor was put into Slytherin, although she was determined not to let the kid emulate the worst of the common personality traits. Closing her book as Connor looked blearily at the two of them, Hermione stood. "Alright, we should get to bed. Connor," she added, speaking in low, urgent tones. "Remember what we all talked about, okay? You're Harry's cousin. Harry and I have been living in America for the past seven years. You joined Hogwarts late because your parents died in a Muggle car accident and everything got all tangled up while Harry's parents, your aunt and uncle, adopted you. Then we came to Hogwarts with you so you wouldn't feel lonely. And," she added, her voice taking on a very serious tone. "Don't talk to Lucius Malfoy. Ever. If he tries to talk to you, you come and get me or Harry. Okay?"

There was a flash of mutiny in Connor's eyes before he nodded. "I remember, Hermione," he affirmed. Hermione had seen the defiant look that passed over his face, although like a true Slytherin, he'd hidden it immediately. She knew that the stupid boy was drawn to Malfoy; perhaps Draco had been kind to him back in their own time. Not that she was willing to put much stock into that theory.

"If you _do_ talk to Malfoy," she sighed, cupping his cheeks with either hand and forcing him to look at her. "Do not _ever_ admit that we're from the future. If he tries to question you about that stuff, just tell him that you don't know or you can't say, and to ask me or Harry. Promise?"

"Promise," Connor mumbled, lowering his gaze in shame that Hermione had seen through his plans so effortlessly.

Hermione smiled warmly at him. "Okay. And Harry will be right there in the boy's dorm with you, so you can come to him for anything." Harry looked like he might protest, obviously already imagining the energetic first-year waking him up hours before breakfast or coming to his bedside in the middle of the night complaining that he'd had a nightmare or something, but Hermione sent him a quelling look. Rolling his eyes, Harry nodded at his best friend over Connor's head.

"Can't I come see you?" the boy asked, his blue eyes intense with worry.

She shook her head. "Nope. Boys aren't allowed in the girl dorms. But if you really need me, you can use this…" and, with a flourish that wasn't at all necessary and not really fitting with Hermione's character, she produced one of the Galleons she'd enchanted for Dumbledore's Army. Harry raised his eyebrows at her odd behavior, and she shrugged. It wasn't often that she got to play Big Sister with an impressionable child, and she liked that Connor was a little in awe of her advanced powers. Selfish, but purely human. "Just tap it with your wand and say 'Hermione,' and you'll feel it get warm. I'll feel it get warm, too. Then you tap it again and say a place. Like, 'Common room.'" She demonstrated. The words _Common Room_ appeared across the bottom of the coin, where usually there was an embossing of _In Merlin's Name We Go Forth_. "And I'll know to meet you in whatever place you want. Harry has one, too, so you can say his name instead, if you want," she added, grudgingly. It was bad enough that Harry got to be in the same dorms as Connor – she didn't like the idea of them having secret meetings without her.

She wasn't used to feeling this possessive over another person. Not even Ron had provoked a feeling like this in her. Reminding herself that she was going to be fair, impartial, and not fall into Slytherin ways, Hermione handed Connor the coin, resolved to not give a good God damn whether or not he and Harry had secret meetings with it. She would examine her feelings of jealousy later.

The three of them stood and made for the library doors, Hermione leaning down for a second to add, "And don't show the Galleon to anyone but me and Harry, either!"

**October 4****th****, 1970: 7:21 a.m.**

All right. So they'd avoided him all last night, and had only slipped through the common room to head straight to their dormitory. Fine. They couldn't avoid him forever, and Lucius had already formulated an educated opinion on how the little group worked. Greystead was the ringleader – or, Hermione, rather. Now that they shared a House, there was no need to call any of them by their surname. Hermione was the ringleader. Harry second in command simply by virtue of the fact that Connor couldn't really wrest that position from him. He still wasn't sure what Connor had to do with either of them, other than arriving at the same time and puking his guts all over the ex-Gryffindor girl.

Harry and Connor had been long gone since he'd woken up. A first year girl had told him that Hermione was just waking up when he'd made it down to the common room, and since she had to pass through the common room to get outside, he was bound to see her. Lucius forced himself to think charming thoughts. Might as well see if he could get either of the two teenagers to give away their secrets willingly before he tried the first-year. While he thought, there was a flash of movement from the entrance to the girl's dormitory, and while he blinked, Hermione was already a few feet from the portrait leading outside.

She moved quickly; he'd give her that. "Hermione," he called, giving himself a mental pat on the back when she turned to face him, her polite smile promptly dying on her face when her eyes landed on him.

Hermione did all she could to keep from scowling. _Malfoy_. She'd barely been there a day and he was probably already out to demand allegiance from her or homage to his greatness or something similar. He approached her with a friendly smile that didn't fool her for a bit. Perhaps if she hadn't known him, it would have; it wouldn't surprise her to learn that Lucius was popular, if he went around grinning at everyone like that. But she had met with him many times over the years, and had utterly failed to be impressed by his nasty personality and snobby outlook. Not to mention the fact that he was always trying to kill everybody.

She didn't bother to smile. "What do you want?"

His eyebrows raised a fraction at the animosity in her tone, giving him an innocent look. He finished approaching her, standing at a non-threatening distance of four feet away, close enough to inspect her but not to get her knickers in a twist while he did so.

Hermione was not a beautiful girl. She was not possessed of an other-worldly grace, and didn't have the finely-wrought bone structure of Narcissa, who was unofficially Lucius' intended. Narcissa was perfect in many ways, and he'd decided in fifth year that he was going to marry her at some point, make some pretty kids, and she would support him in every way. It helped that they got along, of course. Hermione didn't have Narcissa's straight, pert nose, or her perfectly curved lips.

What Hermione had was a strong jawline, a defiant chin. Her nose was more cute than beautiful, delicate and turning up just the slightest bit at the end, with a dash of freckles across the top. She had large eyes and a wide mouth, although her odd proportioning did not make her ugly, just imperfect. Her eyes were brown. Her hair didn't even bear contemplation, honestly; Lucius was almost willing to let their apparent enmity drop just so he could give her some pointers on keeping the frizz at bay, it was _that_ terrible to look at.

Hermione, for her part, gave Lucius a quick glance over, not bothering to inspect him as thoroughly as he'd done her. He looked like a manlier version of Draco, really, and she'd been looking at Draco just about every day for five and a half years.

"I feel like we've gotten off to a bad start," Lucius started, not faltering when she raised an imperious eyebrow at him. The girl had far too expressive a face to truly belong to Slytherin. He wondered if she was aware that she was broadcasting her every inner thought like that.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at his lame attempt at camaraderie. _Bad start_ was one way of putting it. Is that what you called it when the father of your schoolmate was hellbent on assisting a dark wizard in annihilating you, people like you, your parents, and everyone like your parents? Was it a bad start if the first time you met said father, he gave your friend a book that possessed her and nearly got her killed? Was it a _bad start_, she wondered, if this one person made a habit of trying to _kill_ you about once a year for the last four or five years? "I agree," she said, since he was obviously expecting a reply.

He smiled to reward her for partaking in the conversation. "Well, why don't we start over? I'm Lucius, Slytherin Prefect."

"I'm Hermione, late for breakfast," she returned glibly.

His smile tightened at the corners. "I'm attempting to be polite. Lenient, if you will, considering your attitude towards me. I'm offering a chance for us to become friends." Unspoken was the warning that Lucius Malfoy would make a very bad enemy.

Hermione snorted, an unladylike gesture that completely surprised the prefect. Rolling her eyes, she opened the portrait door. "Take your chance and stuff it, Malfoy. I can do better than you if we're talking friends." She began to open the portrait more fully, intending to step through, when it suddenly slammed shut. Lucius leaned easily against the portrait, his posture relaxed but no longer openly friendly. Crossing his arms easily, he regarded her silently for a few moments. She tried not to fidget.

"You're not very friendly," he observed, in an offhand, almost idle tone. "Have I done anything in particular to deserve this aggression?"

_What an interesting question_, she thought sarcastically. Knowing full well that she couldn't list all his past wrongs against her, since they hadn't, technically, actually occurred yet, she settled herself with a completely unsatisfactory but workable answer. "Let's just say that I know a pompous brat when I see one, Malfoy." Cutting him off from what was undoubtedly a witty riposte, she crossed her own arms, more so she could grab her wand without him noticing than out of feelings of anger or resentment. "Have I done anything in particular to deserve this completely unwelcome bid for my good opinion?"

His eyes were half-lidded, an expression that made him look supremely annoyed. "Just because I'm social doesn't mean I hold your opinion in high regard, _Hermione_. I highly advise you to keep my offer in mind. This year can be pleasant, or it can be extremely uncomfortable. Perhaps you'd better think in terms of your best interests before shooting my peace offering to the floor."

"If you're worried that I'll try and seize the pitiable little schoolyard throne you've built up for yourself, then I wouldn't fret, Malfoy." She put her hand on the portrait door, smiling nastily when Lucius finally stood and allowed her to leave. "Oh, and don't frown – you'll form wrinkles."

With that, she disappeared, the final fluff of hair being the last to exit the actual room. Lucius looked at the portrait impassively, although on the inside he was heavily irritated. Finally, he threw a glance over his shoulder, waving his wand at the corner and watching another Slytherin first-year appear from behind the camouflage spell he'd put on him.

"Well, Severus?" he asked the first-year, watching the black-haired boy try and shake the icky feeling of the spell. "What did you notice?"

"She keeps her wand on her left side, near her, um, chest," Severus Snape managed, his black eyes skittering around as he said the last word of the sentence. Then he continued on. If Lucius liked his report, then Severus might be able to gain a spot in the prefect's circle – an enviable position for any first-year. "She's really emotional, isn't she? She doesn't seem very Slytherin. Unless the emotions are just a ploy. I wonder why she hates you, since she just met you? Maybe she knows you from somewhere…" Severus trailed off, noting that Lucius was no longer actively listening to him.

The blonde waved the first-year away, and Severus slipped out of the portrait hole. The first-year had offered nothing that Lucius wasn't able to see for himself. He'd have to work on Severus' skills in observation. He'd already told Severus to keep an eye on Connor throughout their classes, so hopefully he'd be able to notice something out of the ordinary within a few days. Perhaps a reason behind the three's odd relationship: sixth-years didn't make a habit of hanging out with first-years.

Finally, he sighed and exited the common room. It seemed that Hermione was not going to bend, so he was going to have to try something – or rather, someone – else.

Perhaps Harry would be more amenable.

**October 7****th****, 1970: 12:48 p.m.**

Harry was avoiding Lucius like the blonde carried the plague. There was definitely something _off_ about the two Gryffindor-turned-Slytherins. They had no plausible reason for disliking Lucius, as he hadn't been openly rude during their first night in Hogwarts, and he didn't know any of them prior to that moment. Giving up on being able to ascertain the reason using any of them personally, he'd finally owled home, asking his parents what they knew about the Greysteads and Pennewicks. Nothing. There was no long-standing hatred between either of them and the Malfoy name, although apparently Harry and Hermione were the first of the family to return to Britain in about two generations.

There was no reason for them to so openly dislike Lucius. He'd set Severus on Connor, and then Narcissa on Harry and Hermione, since they were in the same year. Severus told Lucius that neither Harry nor Hermione left Connor alone outside of classes, and that although Connor seemed to enjoy their company, he was beginning to resent the fact that they kept him away from his first-year friends.

Narcissa had merely noted that Harry had all but run screaming from her when she tried to talk with him. Hermione had been polite, but distant, and had shut down any attempt of conversation that the youngest Black sister had made, but she felt that she'd be able to at least hold a stilted conversation with the bushy-haired girl before long. Although Harry and Hermione were best friends, it would only be a matter of time before they sought companionship elsewhere besides with each other.

_I guess it's time to play the waiting game,_ Lucius thought as he entered his room. He felt a little impatient, but knew that waiting might yield the results he desired.

One of them would crack before long.

**October 13****th****, 1970: 3:12 p.m.**

Hermione wasn't sure what to think of Narcissa Black. Certainly she'd been cold in the future, but Hermione hadn't ever spoken to Mrs. Malfoy personally, and the girl was almost disconcertingly friendly. Harry could barely stand to be within five feet of the beautiful blonde, but despite Hermione's suspicions that Narcissa was one of Lucius' puppets, she found herself wearing down when it came to resisting the girl's charm.

"Hi, Hermione," Narcissa piped up from just beyond the brunette's shoulder. Hermione startled, wondering how it was that Narcissa seemed to show up precisely when Hermione was thinking of her.

Beside her, Harry grimaced.

"Hello, Narcissa," Hermione replied politely, although without the same arctic chill her voice had carried the first time Narcissa had tried to speak with her. Having the girl say "hi" to you on a daily basis tended to dilute your hatred of her. "How are you, today?" Harry cast her a disbelieving look at the question; although Hermione had reluctantly entered into polite conversation with the blonde sixth-year, she'd never instigated it.

Narcissa smiled warmly at Hermione's question. It hadn't escaped her that this was the first time Hermione had made any effort at keeping Narcissa around, and although she knew Lucius didn't like the frizzy-haired witch, Narcissa thought that she might rather like Hermione, when it all came down to it. Although cold, Hermione had deftly fielded all attempts at conversation between herself and other Slytherins, especially concerning the trio's odd arrival. Besides that, she was constantly cutting Harry off when it seemed as though the wizard would say something stupid, but she did so in a way that didn't raise suspicion. Narcissa thought that if she knew Hermione better, she might actually enjoy being friends with her. "I'm fantastic! Although I'm not looking forward to this essay for Potions. Potions has got to be the most singly boring class the entire school can offer," she sighed, wrinkling her nose delicately.

She saw Harry look over at her, and stopped a smile from blossoming on her face. Either Harry hated Potions or loved it, to have bothered glancing at her for saying that. Still, the Pennewick boy said nothing.

"I kind of like Potions," Hermione said, thoughtfully. Harry tossed Hermione an exasperated glare, which Narcissa took and filed away in her mental catalogue of the two. Now she knew that Harry most emphatically did not like Potions, and, beyond that, this was a conversation that Hermione and Harry had had before. Given the ire in the boy's gaze, she was willing to bet that it was an argument they'd been having for a very long time. Did that mean they taught Potions in America? Hermione continued, dispelling Narcissa's thoughts. "It requires a certain amount of finesse, which I can appreciate."

"You are the _only_ witch I know who would willingly spend her time hovering over a smoking, smelling cauldron," Harry finally spoke, obviously unable to contain himself even if Narcissa was there. "I wouldn't even call it finesse. I'd call it 'nitpicky.' Anything that will blow up if you don't chop frogs legs in perfect ninety-degree angles is a _waste_ of a life's calling."

Narcissa threw in her two cents, sending Hermione an apologetic look before grinning at Harry. "Sorry, Hermione, but I must agree with that assessment. Potions is so anal-retentive, isn't it?" she asked, directing the question more at Harry. Harry, however, seemed to realize his mistake and had fallen silent once more, drawing in on himself. Darn.

Hermione didn't appear to have noticed, and immediately came to the aid of all Potions, everywhere. "Oh, _really_. Just because you don't know how to chop anything properly is no reason to hate the subject," she sniffed, her face showing the most animation that Narcissa had ever seen while in the girl's presence. It was a rather interesting transformation for the statuesque blonde to witness. One second, Hermione was coldly indifferent to the world around her, and the next, she was blazing with temperamental annoyance. Narcissa had the feeling that she was viewing the "real" Hermione. Harry, for his part, just rolled his eyes.

"Just because you like everything doesn't mean everything is completely lacking in downsides!" Harry grumbled, giving Narcissa an uncomfortable glance as he spoke.

Oh, yes, she was definitely making progress. Narcissa wondered if she could get away with patting Hermione's shoulder, but decided that it was too soon. She didn't want to frighten the two off. "Well, all the better that we let the people who love it devote their lives to it, but I don't see why they have to teach it to everyone," Narcissa half-sighed, half-whined. Although she was, in truth, trying to get them to engage in conversation, she really _did_ hate Potions with a fiery passion. She had simply never been good at it.

"Exactly," Harry added, looking smug.

Hermione threw her arms in the air to silently broadcast her exasperation. So, it was back to this, was it! Hermione being the know-it-all bookworm and two others ganging up on her simply because she liked learning. The thought suddenly twinged uncomfortably, causing Hermione to frown. Narcissa was nice, but she was not Ron, and couldn't take Ron's place in any fashion. Hermione still hadn't cried over the loss of Ron and the others. She wondered when the tears would finally hit her; she was sort of enjoying the return to routine. Stowing the gloomy thoughts away, she turned down the corridor towards Connor's last class. "Oh, fine! This role of 'Potions Protector' you keep forcing me into is getting old and it's starting to chafe something fierce. We are _not_ discussing the pitfalls of Potions anymore!"

Harry turned to Narcissa fully for the first time, too triumphant to care that she was the enemy. A broad grin spread over his features, surprising the blonde. He had an infectious smile, it would appear; an answering smile had appeared on Narcissa's lips before she was aware of what her mouth was doing. "She knows she lost," Harry said in a mock-confidential tone. Hermione squawked and turned, smacking him on the arm. He took the hit with another broad, knowing smile, but this time, when his eyes made contact with Narcissa's, the smile seemed to fade, and he turned his attention to the wall again.

Narcissa knew she was wearing Harry down, though, so she decided not to take the unspoken insult too seriously.

Suddenly, Harry and Hermione stopped in front of one of the doors. Narcissa took a few steps beyond them, and then turned, glancing at them quizzically. She knew that they were of the habit of waiting for Connor's last class to end, of course, but they didn't know that she knew. "What are you doing?"

"Waiting for Connor," Hermione answered, leaning against the wall near the door.

Narcissa gave them an odd look. "You wait for the first-year classes to be over? Why?"

Hermione shifted uncomfortably. "Well… we don't like to leave him alone. He lost his parents recently." It _was_ true. But Hermione felt a bit bad for lying by omission – but then she berated herself. She was absolutely, positively allowed to lie to Narcissa Black/Malfoy, no matter how weirdly nice she was being. Besides, she couldn't very well tell Narcissa "Oh, I just don't want your evil, conniving boyfriend to catch him alone and torture him ruthlessly for information" because she was pretty sure that that was going to be a one-way ticket to hell.

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that," Narcissa said, softly. She seemed to think for a second before adding, "But don't you think he might want to hang around with friends his age?"

"Harry and I can keep him entertained," Hermione responded, stiffly.

"I'm not contesting that. Just… kids just want to be kids sometimes, don't' you think? I think it'd be hard to really be a kid around sixth-years, if it were me. I'd be falling all over myself to make sure the sixth-years were impressed with me, proud of me, and still thought I was a good friend and everything." The blonde shrugged, not looking as though she honestly cared, much. "That's just what I think."

"Thank you for your opinion," Hermione said, her tone cold and brooking no further discussion.

Looking sheepish, Harry made another attempt to join into the conversation. He looked very much like he didn't want to be in Hermione's line of fire, but he steeled himself for the upcoming blow and spoke in a soft, gentle voice. "She's got a point, Hermione. Connor can't really be himself around us. You're always pushing him to learn out of class, and I'm getting close to the point of just telling him to shut up every once in a while, you know?" At Hermione's anxious look, Harry rushed to reassure her. Narcissa thought that they were oddly friendly towards each other for Slytherins. "I know you're worried that he'll be… bullied," he finished lamely, shooting Narcissa a covert glance that she pretended not to notice. Whatever Harry had originally meant to say, it hadn't been "bullied." But Hermione seemed to understand what he was trying to convey. "But we can't watch him all the time. He knows how to contact us if there's trouble, and he's got to develop a thick skin sooner or later."

"It's not fair expecting him to grow _that_ thick of a skin, Harry," Hermione argued, although Narcissa could tell from her defeated tone that she secretly agreed with her best friend.

Harry gave her an adorably lopsided smile, resting his hand on her shoulder. "We'll just have to trust everybody else not to hurt him too much. Every parent goes through this pain sooner or later. And yeah, I know you're not his real mum, but it's not for lack of trying at this point." Hermione laughed, looking a little embarrassed.

Narcissa felt somewhat like an interloper on a tender moment. She was quite sure that the two of them were not romantically linked, but they acted as if they were very close. Much closer than she could say she was to her own friends… but then, Slytherin wasn't so much about making friends as making allegiances and helpful allies. She was beginning to think that they had been put into the wrong House or something.

Just then, the first-years came piling out of the classroom. Connor seemed torn between delight and despair when he caught sight of his two guardians. Severus trailed along behind him, watching him carefully. Narcissa noted this with well-hidden surprise; she hadn't realized that Lucius had assigned any of the first-years to one of his little projects.

Hermione knelt down in front of Connor, giving Harry an uncertain look. "Connor… do you, perhaps, want to hang out with the other first-years today?"

Again, many emotions crossed the boy's face at once before he stowed them away. "Did I do something wrong?" he asked, seeming immensely relieved when Hermione smiled and shook her head. He looked undecided for a moment, but glanced over and saw Severus hovering nearby, and shared a smile with the other first-year before looking back at Hermione. "I want to play with Severus. He and some of the other first years are going to try and lure the giant squid to the surface of the lake! Can I go?"

Narcissa watched an interesting array of emotions cross the sixth-years' faces when Connor mentioned Severus' name. Harry stared longer at Severus than Hermione did, not being as well-versed in subtlety as his friend, and the blonde watched with amusement as Harry's mouth fell open for a second before he snapped it shut.

"Sure, okay," Hermione said, looking fretful. "Just be careful. You know how to reach us, right?"

"Yeah! I just pull out my gal—"

"Right, right," Hermione cut in, raising her eyebrows in silent warning at Connor. The boy immediately stopped speaking, as if just remembering that they had company. "Okay. We'll see you at dinner, then." She stood, looking a little lost as Connor began to move past her with Severus. Harry stopped Connor, leaning down and whispering something in his ear with a grin and a wink. Narcissa didn't catch it, but she watched Hermione whirl on Harry and smack his shoulder again. "Harry! Don't give him _pointers_!"

Raising his hands in a "Hey, I'm innocent!" gesture, Harry gave his best impression of a poker face. Scowling, the bushy-haired girl watched Connor disappear down the corridor with Severus.

"Severus, huh?" she asked, suddenly, smiling impishly.

"Yeah, all right, it's all very amusing," Harry said, crossly. Narcissa raised her eyebrows in silent question at their inside joke, wanting to know why it was so funny but knowing that this probably wasn't the right time to ask.

The blonde cleared her throat daintily, smiling in a friendly manner at the two of them as they turned towards her. "Am I correct in believing that you two don't have plans until dinner?" Something close to panic crossed over Harry's face, and Narcissa had to try very hard not to laugh. "Nothing sordid, Harry! But the other people in our class haven't seen much of either of you outside of class, and I think they're beginning to spread rumors. Some of them are getting patently ridiculous. And nothing dispels nasty rumors like being exposed to the truth, right?"

Hermione was beginning to think that Narcissa had orchestrated the whole guilt trip about Connor just so she could be the lucky one to pull Hermione and Harry into the Slytherin posse. Still, it would be nice to _talk_ to people again, and people from the other houses would think she was up to something if she asked to go hang out.

Seeing the thoughtful look on his friend's face, Harry poked her arm. "You can't be serious."

"Well, there's always the library—"

"Hey! Let's get going!" Harry said to Narcissa with an overabundance of fake enthusiasm.

Hermione rolled her eyes behind Harry's back and she and Narcissa shared a smile. They were a disconcerting pair, not acting like… well, like Slytherins. But Narcissa wasn't sure that she disliked it. It was kind of nice to be around people that were so lively. It made her miss her sisters.

**October 13****th****, 1970: 3:42 p.m.**

"You're a genius. A miracle-worker," Lucius told her, his eyes fixed on the sight of Hermione and Harry socializing with a handful of other Slytherins. Lucius and Narcissa were sharing a couch on the far side of the common room so that they could talk in private. Both of the sixth-years looked slightly uncomfortable, as though they felt out of their element, but they were smiling and laughing with their classmates enough that Lucius was sure they would be returning.

Narcissa preened exaggeratedly at his compliment. "Oh, I know it. Give me a week, and I can pull _anyone_ in. I'm just that magnetic."

The prefect favored her with a warm smile. Narcissa wondered at her lack of answering heat. Sure, Lucius and she got along, and she knew that he intended to marry her one day, but she didn't feel passionate towards him, and she was sure he didn't feel passionate towards her. Theirs would be a marriage based on friendship, a partnership. They had the same ideals, the same tastes. After he graduated, Lucius would become one of Lord Voldemort's Death Eaters, and she would support their endeavors while appearing perfect.

Lucius was handsome. But she didn't love him in that way. She felt like she should. They were well-matched to each other, physically, after all.

"Okay. I give up. How did you do it?" Lucius' voice cut into her thoughts, and Narcissa glanced up at him before smiling coyly and taking a sip from her goblet of water.

"If I tell you my secrets, then you won't need me anymore. And I can't _stand_ being useless, darling," she said, batting her eyelashes in mock flirtation.

He laughed. "Fine, I'll just assume they're under Imperius, then."

"Aren't you going to try and talk to them?"

He surprised her by shaking his head. His eyes were calculating, although he was still smiling happily at the latest turn of events. "No. I'll let them get comfortable with the others, first. They seem to hate me, and I'd hate to be the one that chased them away." Lucius' eyes drifted to her goblet. Smiling cheekily, she offered it to him, and he accepted it and sipped, his eyes not leaving the dynamic duo.

**End Note: **Fast update, huh? Because I love you all thisssss much.


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